


Kent Parson Is Kind of a Big Deal

by alicejericho



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicejericho/pseuds/alicejericho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are probably better ways to come out than a late night, drunken tweet after you’ve just been blown by a guy in the not-so-private back of a less-than-reputable bar but Kent Parson has never really done things the best way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kent Parson Is Kind of a Big Deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allofthefandoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/gifts).



> Welcome to my first venture into Check Please fanfic. This is for allofthefandoms; I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Warnings for: some swearing, some references to homophobic language/behaviour and people doing things that leads to them accidentally coming out of the closet. If you think anything else warrants a warning, just let me know.

* * *

@kparson90: _Yes I. Duck guys and I think think you should to_

Kent has two thoughts when he sees his tweet; the first is that autocorrect did most of the work and the second is that the tweet would have been more accurate if it said that guys fucked him. There’s a quieter third thought that says he fucked up but he’s still a little drunk, a little hungover and doesn’t want to linger on that one too much.

There are probably better ways to come out than a late night, drunken tweet after you’ve just been blown by a guy in the not-so-private back of a less-than-reputable bar but Kent Parson has never really done things the best way.

He’s glad that he has woken up to an empty bed but, then again, he always wakes up to an empty bed. Fucking – being fucked – in bars is risky enough, he doesn’t need to make the whole situation riskier by dragging some guy back to his apartment and having everyone see. Not that it matters now that he’s unintentionally outed himself over social media.

His phone starts to ring in his hands and he accidentally drops it over the edge of the bed. Without even seeing the name on the screen he knows that it’s the Ace’s PR Manager. Or maybe even the General Manager. It’s someone from the team wanting to talk about what he’s done so he lets the phone ring out on the floor.

Kent groans, hugs his pillow tighter underneath his head and attempts to go back to sleep. Only seconds pass before his phone is ringing again. He peaks over the side of the bed and stretches out to pick it up.

It’s Nicola. The PR Manager.

“Yes.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes: the answer to your question.”

“So you sent it on purpose?”

“Funny.”

Except that it’s not funny.  Nothing about this will be funny. Not when his fans start to turn against him. Not when he has to face endless press conferences. Not when his team starts to change extra carefully to make sure he doesn’t get a glimpse of their junk.

“We’re behind you all the way,” Nicola says softly. Kent can hear the apology in her voice. She knows that it’s going to be hard, too. “We’re going to have to prepare for well – not a _backlash-_ ”

“But, yeah. A backlash.”

He knows. He’s been mentally preparing himself for that backlash since he was fourteen and realized that other boys were uncomfortable with even just the _concept_ of boys who like boys. It’s been more than ten years and he still isn’t ready for the backlash.

“Kent – this doesn’t change anything. You’re still the captain and you’re still one of the best players in the league. Being gay doesn’t change that.”

That’s what gets him. That’s what gets him right in the chest and makes him realize the gravity of the situation. People know that he’s gay and people are going to call him gay. People are going to call him worse.

“I gotta go.”

“Kent we need to ta-”

Only one person knows for certain that Kent is _gay_. Other people have their suspicions – mainly the guys he has slept with over the years – but his sister is the only one he’s ever told. He isn’t sure that it was ever supposed to be a secret, he’s just been waiting for the right time to tell people. He’s learnt over the years that there is never a ‘right’ time.

His phone rings almost non-stop the entire morning. His sister calls repeatedly. His parents take turns in trying to contact him. His teammates – some, not all – call and leave voicemail messages that he doesn’t want to listen to.

Kent makes a split second decision around lunchtime that he’s going to try his best to have a normal day. He only has a few more days before he returns to New York so he’s going to enjoy summer in Las Vegas while he still can.

Relief washes over him when he leaves the apartment building and nobody is hanging around with recorders and cameras. The relief is immediately replaced by confusion because _this is a big deal_. _People should be wanting to speak to him_. Nobody does, though. Maybe everybody but his team and his family missed his tweet. Except that that is definitely not the case because his twitter mentions had been more active than usual and that’s saying something because he’s _Kent Parson_ and his mentions are never _near_ the realm of quiet.

He’s able to walk through the streets of Vegas wearing his signature snapback with not one person looking at him sideways. There’s an upside to being the captain of the Las Vegas hockey team – ninety percent of the people living in the city couldn’t care less about ice hockey and, by extension, him.

Feeling his phone buzzing in his pocket is the constant reminder of what happened and what he’s avoiding so he turns it off as he walks into one of the city’s more discrete restaurants.

The waiters know who he is and _they_ look at him like they know something is different, so he takes a seat in the back of the room and studies the menu with a thoroughness he hasn’t before.

He orders and eats quickly because a few more people are looking at him and whispering. He hears someone say something about ‘queers’ in the most disgusted voice Kent has heard anyone use in years and all he wants to do is get out. He doesn’t know if it was even in reference to him but it doesn’t matter because it _might_ be. It _could_ be.

The girl who brings him his check his smiling at him softly – whether she recognizes him from the times he’s eaten there or because he’s Kent Parson he doesn’t know, it might be both – and he hands her his credit card without a word.

She brings it back for his signature but hands him the finalized receipt at the same time before turning away. Blue writing catches his eye before he pockets the credit card receipt. The ‘you can play’ has him smiling for the first time since he woke up that morning. He pulls a loose fifty from his wallet and pushes it into the tip jar on his way out. What’s fifty dollars, anyway?

* * *

He isn’t allowed to go back to New York.

The team needs him to do press conferences and interviews, all the while telling him that it’s not a big deal. It’s more of a big deal than it was when he first left his apartment because there are now definitely journalists waiting for him to say _something_. He wants to walk out with a large sign that has the tweet printed on it because he can imagine that _“Is it true?”_ is the only question any of them want the answer to. Maybe they want to know if it’s going to affect his game but probably not.

His sexuality gets tossed around the media and the internet like he’s already done those things. Not once has he said that he’s gay. His tweet might have heavily inferred it but it also just said that he ‘ducked guys’ – really, that shouldn’t mean anything. At least that’s what he tries to tell Nicola. As far as anyone else knows he could be bi. He could be a pansexual aromantic – but most people wouldn’t know what that meant and would just keep calling him gay, anyway. Everyone already knows and already has their stories and that’s why press conferences are a dumb idea.

“Are you ready to do this?” Nicola asks. Kent shrugs at her because even if he says he isn’t he will still have to. She smiles softly at him because she knows that it’s going to be invasive and ridiculous but she also isn’t going to get him out of it.

The first few questions are simple.

Did Kent mean to send out that tweet? – “I think the grammar and spelling of the tweet gives you that answer.”

How has Kent’s team reacted? – “It’s not really something that’s going to change anything.”

What does he mean by that? – “Nothing’s changed. What I do now is exactly what I was doing this time last year and the year before that and so on. Nothing’s changed.”

Then everything changes.

“What do you have to say about the photos of Jack Zimmermann that were made public earlier today?”

“I don’t – what does he have to do with this?” He doesn’t mean to sound so tense, or defensive, but there’s history there that doesn’t need to be brought up. History that is nobody’s business but theirs.

The reporter holds his phone into the air. “Can I?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he stands and starts walking towards the stage.

Kent recognizes the twitter handle immediately as that of one of the guys on Jack’s college hockey team. He recognizes the blond in the photo as that guy. He also recognizes the love-struck look Jack has on his face as the blond presses a kiss to Jack’s cheek. Kent freezes.

“Did you know that Jack Zimmermann was also gay?”

Kent is usually calm and collected. He doesn’t like to get angry, he doesn’t like to get loud and he especially doesn’t like to do it in front of cameras but before he knows what he’s doing he’s standing up.

“Fuck all of you and your assumptions. Yeah, I’m fucking gay. You didn’t even know that until now; you all just decided I was and rolled with it. Zimmermann? I have no fucking clue. It’s none of your fucking business. To any queer kids out there who want to play hockey: fucking do it. You can play. Sucking a dick isn’t going to make you bad at something.”

* * *

No one is particularly happy with him.

The reports have changed from him coming out to him coming out and blowing up – but the latter at least also mentions the he doesn’t think sexuality has anything to do with hockey so that’s something.

He gets calls from his family and they talk about it – his sister asks a few questions about Jack before she says Kent should call him. He tells her that he’s going to he just doesn’t know when or what he should say.

_Hey, Zimms, guess you accidentally came out, too._

_So, you and that kid?_

_I told you you had a type._

Except that when he calls four hours and one or three drinks later it’s not Jack who answers. That hadn’t once crossed Kent’s mind so when a decidedly southern accent says “Jack Zimmerman’s phone” Kent freezes.

“Hello?” the person asks and Kent can hear the slight panic in their voice. “If this is a joke-”

“No!” Kent says quickly, realizing that there have probably been a lot of phone calls to Jack today about the press conference and that some of them might not have been so nice. “Is Zimms there?”

“He’s busy at the moment.” There’s still hesitation in his voice. “Who’s calling? I can get him to call you back.”

“Uh, it’s Parse. Kent. Parson.”

“Oh.”

Kent doesn’t say anything because there’s not much else he can say. He waits, drinks more of his fourth beer and begins to bounce his knee.

“Thank you. For this morning.”

Kent plays it off. “All I really did was swear a lot. Made a few people angry.”

“You made a lot of people feel like they can play hockey. Thank you.  Oh – Jack! It’s Kent. Parson.”

Kent freezes again. There’s thinking about talking to Jack and then there’s _actually_ talking Jack and he isn’t sure he’s ready for the latter but he hears the phone being fumbled around and Jack’s – Jack’s boyfriend? – saying that he’ll just be in the next room.

“Kent.”

“Zimms, hey,” Kent says casually. Or at least he tries to say it casually. It definitely comes out strained and cautious. “I just – everything okay on your end?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know that they were going to bring you up.”

“No one did. It’s not like they know anything about juniors. It’s not a big deal, Kent.”

_It’s not a big deal_. Yeah. Right.

“You’re allowed to be mad or upset or whatever about this,” Kent tells him, feeling a little exasperated. “You know that, right? You can kick the hockey robot stuff. It’s just me.”

“I’m not mad or upset or whatever,” Jack responds though there’s a little bite in his voice. “I’m not keeping secrets. I was never keeping secrets.”

“Fine. Is the kid okay, then? Is he alright with being outed like that?”

“Bittle? He’s a not a kid.”

“That’s not the point of what I said. You might not care, Jack, but the kid – _Bittle_ – might. Especially if he’s being thrust into the limelight by being your boyfriend.”

Kent doesn’t meant to get defensive and it’s got nothing to do with whatever past he has with Jack – not really, anyway. It’s because Kent, himself, cares about what’s going on. He doesn’t like the idea of being in the news for a whole other reason – for reasons that shouldn’t be a big deal but, as he’s spent the past few days realizing, are a huge deal.

So he continues, “You’ve spent your entire life in the limelight. Bittle hasn’t.”

“He’s fine,” Jack says curtly and Kent doesn’t like the way his heart hurts. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. It’s fucking hockey. Nothing else. You said it yourself this morning: sucking dick isn’t going to make anyone bad at it.”

He’s oddly comforted by having his statement repeated to him. Especially by Jack. Probably because it means that Jack understands, at least somewhere in his head.

“If you ever actually want to talk about it – you know, I’m kind of going through the exact same thing so we can, I don’t know, sort it out together.”

When Jack speaks again it’s a loss softer, less curt. “You can play, Kenny.”

Kent breaths a small sigh of relief. “You too, Zimms.”

The call ends there with neither of them saying anything else.

Kent doesn’t move from the couch. He’s resting his beer bottle on the arm of the couch, staring up at his Stanley Cup. He laughs to himself. He was gay when that happened – whether people knew it or not. He was gay when he scored his first hat trick. Gay when he scored his tenth. Hell, he was gay when he was drafted first overall.

It’s not a big deal. Even if it will continue to be a big deal for years to come because he will always be the first _openly_ gay NHL player. And because he did it when he was drunk and on twitter.

**Author's Note:**

> If you really want to you can follow me on [tumblr](theonlymonsterisme.tumblr.com) if you want. I think at the moment I'm mostly posting Dallas Stars stuff interspersed with wrestling stuff and other random posts.
> 
> And finally, I'm sorry for any Australian spelling/grammar/lexicon that made it's way into this. I've been writing American-based stuffed for like 10 years now (wow that's so long D:) so it should be okay - let me know if it isn't, my friends who read over it are also Australian so are of no help in that area.


End file.
